


Resolutions Are Made to be Broken.

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek New Year's Extravaganza [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Derek Comes Back, Feral Derek, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Resolutions, New Year’s, Pining Derek Hale, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Red stained the floor in front of his window, a pool of it slowly spreading outward from the unconscious body. Black hair was grown out, greasy and full of leaves. The hand Stiles could see was missing a few nails, and covered in light scratches. The leather jacket was ripped to shreds and the jeans were dirty and holey, blood staining the material.Even though he couldn’t see his face, even though it had been two years, even though he had just promised himself that this year,this year, would be the year where he never again thought of Derek Hale...There he fucking was.Derek fucking Hale.(SNYE - January 1st - New Year’s)





	Resolutions Are Made to be Broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Stiles Stilinski sat staring at his phone while the people around him screamed the countdown loudly. The TV was on, showing off Times Square where they waited for the ball to drop, but he didn’t pay it any attention, instead focussing on the time on his phone. Eleven fifty-nine. He had only a few seconds to decide whether or not he was actually going to do this. Whether or not he actually _could_  do this.

People cheering around him startled him out of his thoughts and he looked up, seeing that the ball had dropped and everyone around him was hugging and kissing and being drunk idiots. He didn’t understand the appeal of being excited for a new year, especially with his life. All a new year meant was new ways for him to get killed and his loved ones to get injured. He wasn’t a fan of the new year.

Staring down at his phone, he opened his contacts and scrolled until he reached the applicable name, staring at it intently for a long while, finger hovering. Someone fell down beside him, and he didn’t even have to look to know it was Scott McCall. He could feel his happy grin like a slap to the face, but he didn’t let himself be bitter about it. It wasn’t Scott’s fault he had what he wanted while Stiles didn’t.

After a brief silence, Scott nudged him lightly, then pressed his weight into his side, looking down at what Stiles was staring at on his phone. Scott had lost his concept of personal space since becoming a Werewolf, but Stiles figured he couldn’t complain, considering he wasn’t a Werewolf himself and had never really understood personal space.

Scott said nothing when he caught sight of what Stiles was looking at. He just leaned against him, silently showing his support for whatever decision Stiles made. He knew which one he _wanted_  to make, but he didn’t know if he could do it. If he did, that was it. It was over. He was the last one here who had it. The last one who would ever know what it was. But it had been over two years of nothing.

Stiles had promised this to himself. He’d promised that his New Year’s resolution was going to be to forget about Derek Hale. He was going to forget him, erase him, and pretend he had never cared about him. It hurt too much to remember, and he was tired of being hurt. Tired of waiting for someone to come back, to call, to text. Tired of expecting anything to change.

Derek had left without a word, and he hadn’t come back. He wasn’t deserving of anyone’s thoughts. He’d always preferred to be alone, and that was how he’d operated. For years, he’d pushed them all away, coming to them only when he needed help he couldn’t get himself. Like research, or mountain ash, or any other number of things only Stiles could do for him.

But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t bothered to care. Derek Hale was a fucking asshole and he wasn’t worth Stiles’ time anymore.

Tapping on Derek’s contact, Stiles pressed another button and a prompt appeared on his screen, asking him if he was sure he wanted to delete the contact.

He stared down at the prompt for what felt like an eternity, wondering if he could actually do this. If he could let him go. If this could really be how things ended. If he could do this because of a fucking New Year’s resolution.

Taking a deep breath that he exhaled through parted lips, he confirmed the deletion and Derek’s name disappeared from his contacts. Scott’s hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing tightly, but he said nothing. He just offered brief support, then stood to go and find them some drinks.

Kira Yukimura took his empty seat not long after, chatting away excitedly with Stiles and thanking Scott when he returned with three drinks. Stiles took his and tried to smile while he listened to Kira, but it was hard.

Stiles had been the last one. The last person in their group who had continued to try. After Derek had left, hunting Kate with Braeden, they’d all tried to keep tabs on him. They’d texted, called, left voicemails, everything. Derek had never answered his phone, and had never texted back. Eventually, the others had stopped bothering to try. Most of them figured Derek was dead, and even Alan Deaton had become more involved with Scott, acting as an Emissary for him in light of his missing Alpha. Deaton was practically already the McCall Pack Emissary anyway, so it didn’t change much dynamics-wise. 

But Stiles had held out. He’d figured Derek just didn’t know what to say, and thus he didn’t answer them. So he’d continued to text him. He’d continued to keep him updated, to call him, to leave him voicemails and ask him how he was doing, if he’d caught Kate, when he was coming home.

Senior year ended and they went off to university. Stiles and Scott stayed close to home and each other, whereas everyone else scattered.

Much as Stiles wanted to leave Beacon Hills behind and never look back, this was where his dad lived, and he couldn’t do that. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t up and leave his dad, so Beacon Hills always called him home in the end.

Now, it was winter break of his second year of university, over two years since Derek’s departure, and still the silence persisted. And it hurt. Seeing that name in his phone, texting him, pretending he was still there...

It hurt.

Stiles knew it was time to let him go. Derek was either dead, or not coming back. After everything that had happened to him, Stiles couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away. Stiles wanted that, too, but he would never be able to because of his dad.

He and Scott were stuck there, and even though the others had gotten out, they returned every break and he knew that no matter what happened, when they all graduated, they’d all converge back here. None of them could escape Beacon Hills. It was as much a part of them as they were a part of it. They would never escape the Supernatural as long as they lived.

When Lydia Martin made her way over to them and plopped down in Stiles’ lap—likely to make a new beau jealous, though why she used Stiles, he didn’t know—he knew Scott had caught her during his brief absence.

It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he cared about Derek. Their relationship had always been a bit confusing and violent, but they’d shared something. What that something was, even Stiles didn’t know, but it hurt to think that he never would. This was truly it. The end. He could never try and contact Derek again.

He tried to stick around to laugh and smile with his friends, sitting in the living room of some random person’s house while they all rang in the new year, but it was becoming exhausting pretending his chest wasn’t aching and a piece of him hadn’t just died. He was pretty sure Scott could smell the anguish but he didn’t say anything, just kept shooting him little looks of concern.

Around one, he figured he’d stayed long enough and bid them all farewell. He’d have thanked the party host if only he knew whose house this was, so he instead just waved to his friends, bumped fists with some old classmates, and walked out of the house.

The air was cool against his heated skin, and he shivered on his way back to the Jeep, shoving his hands into his pockets. He stared up at the sky while he made his way down the sidewalk to where he’d parked a few blocks over, watching the stars through the trees and trying to discern the various constellations he knew.

He’d almost reached his car when a police cruiser slowed beside him, heading in the direction he’d just come from. The window rolled down and his dad stared out at him from behind the wheel.

“Hey kiddo,” he said with a tired smile. “Done with the festivities?”

“You know me. It’s not a party unless someone dies,” Stiles said, somewhat sarcastically but also acknowledging that it wasn’t exactly a lie.

How sad was his life, truly?

The sheriff shook his head with a sigh and turned his gaze back down the road. “Anyone there you need to warn before I show up?”

“Just don’t arrest anyone and I won’t have to warn them.”

His dad gave him a look and Stiles rolled his eyes before pulling out his phone, the sheriff driving off slowly. Stiles mass-texted his friends, letting them know the police were on their way and to clear out. The Werewolves couldn’t get drunk anyway, so they were unlikely to be drinking, and he doubted his father would arrest them, but he figured he may as well give them a heads up.

Finally reaching his Jeep, which he’d had to park five blocks over, he climbed in, fought with the ignition when it refused to start, and slowly drove home in the darkness. Most of the houses had their lights off, but a few had one or two still lit, likely people enjoying a quiet night in on New Year’s day.

Stiles was stopped at a checkpoint, but given he’d only had the punch Scott had brought him, he was waved through without any problems. He reached the house in no time, given the lack of traffic, and made his way inside and to his room.

Too lazy to bother with anything more than just stripping out of his clothes, he fell onto his bed in only his boxers and T-shirt, the lights still off, staring at his phone and wishing he hadn’t deleted Derek’s number.

It would be hard for a while, and he knew it, but in the end it was the best thing for him to do. He couldn’t continue to hold out for a response, and if he had to make a resolution at the beginning of a new year to force himself to let Derek Hale go, well... he supposed that was all he could do.

Tossing the phone onto his nightstand, he kicked at the covers until he could get beneath them, then rolled over and closed his eyes for sleep, intent on starting the new year with a happy and Derek-free disposition.

* * *

A loud bang woke Stiles from an uneasy sleep, the teen’s head jerking up off his pillow, a string of drool connecting his mouth to it. He quickly scrubbed his hand over his face to wake himself up more and turned his head towards his window.

He almost had a heart attack at the large shadow he saw looming outside, and he had to wonder what kind of moron would be trying to break into the sheriff’s house.

Probably one who’d noticed the cruiser was gone and figured he could take the sheriff’s son.

Practically falling out of bed, brain still foggy with sleep and eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness, Stiles winced at the pain in his hand and knee from where he hit the ground and crawled quickly for his baseball bat.

Grabbing it with both hands when he heard his window slide open, he scrambled to his feet and whipped around with the weapon raised just as a body fell unceremoniously into his room and lay in a heap on the ground just in front of his window.

Stiles stood frozen, watching the large mass of flesh and clothing, waiting for it to do something, but it didn’t move. It hardly looked like it was breathing.

Shifting forward cautiously, he managed two steps before he could reach out with the bat and nudge at the mass curled up on his floor. It didn’t move, causing him to scowl.

Keeping an eye on the person in his room, he slowly moved backwards, one hand held out behind himself, and felt along the wall until he reached the light switch. Flicking it on, he quickly brought the hand back to the bat so he held it with both hands, and raised it, waiting for an attack.

It didn’t come, and instead of swinging, Stiles dropped the bat.

Red stained the floor in front of his window, a pool of it slowly spreading outward from the unconscious body. Black hair was grown out, greasy and full of leaves. The hand Stiles could see was missing a few nails, and covered in light scratches. The leather jacket was ripped to shreds and the jeans were dirty and holey, blood staining the material.

Even though he couldn’t see his face, even though it had been two years, even though he had just promised himself that this year, _this year_ , would be the year where he never again thought of Derek Hale...

There he fucking was.

Derek fucking Hale.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed, then snapped himself out of his shock and raced to his side. “Derek, hey! Hey, can you hear me?”

He rolled him onto his back, recoiling slightly at the sight that greeted him.

Whatever had gotten Derek hadn’t been kind to him. Large gashes had sliced through his abdomen deep enough to hit bone, and some of Derek’s organs were visible. It made Stiles’ gorge rise and he gagged.

_Don’t throw up. Do **not**  throw up,_ he ordered himself, struggling to get the leather jacket off Derek’s shoulders so he could try and remove his shirt.

At another sound from outside, his head shot up and he leapt for the window, slamming it shut. He looked out into the darkness but saw nothing, the trees swaying in a soft breeze. He wasn’t going to take any chances, though, so he turned and rushed out of his room and down the stairs, almost falling down them in his haste to reach the front door. He grabbed the jar of mountain ash on the hall table and threw a handful towards the front door, feeling the house shudder slightly at the closure of the mountain ash circle. He waited for a second, listening, heart slamming against his ribs, but he heard nothing. If anything was in the house with them, Stiles had hopefully trapped it there.

He realized belatedly that he’d also effectively trapped Derek, too, but he didn’t dwell on that. He just turned and rushed back up the stairs to his room, slamming into his door in his haste to get back to his side.

Derek hadn’t moved an inch and Stiles fell back beside him, returning to working his jacket off and wondering if he should call someone. Scott or Melissa or Deaton, he didn’t know. Did he need a doctor or a vet?

“Figures,” Stiles muttered to himself, finally getting the jacket off and then ripping at the shirt since it was a lost cause anyway. “I make a resolution to forget about your entire broody existence, and you stumble through my window half-dead and covered in blood. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work. Resolutions are made to be broken, right?”

He knew he was just talking to stop from panicking, but Derek looked... bad. Really bad. He wasn’t sure what he should do, so he just kept stripping him as much as he could, and once Derek was down to his boxer briefs—which had _definitely_  seen better days—he grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him through his room and into the hall. He let out a loud groan of disgust and stared up at the ceiling to avoid looking at the streak of blood that dragging Derek was leaving on the floor.

“Don’t puke. Don’t puke. That isn’t going to help. Everything is fine. Not like Derek’s intestines are half-hanging out of his stomach. No big deal. Everything’s great.”

He got Derek to the bathroom, flipping the light on and leaving a bloody handprint along the white wall. His dad wouldn’t be happy, but hopefully he’d forgive him.

Stiles threw open the cabinet and began digging through it for the First Aid kit. He knew it wouldn’t do much good against what Derek had, but he mostly just needed to staunch the bleeding so that the Werewolf healing could kick in and stop Derek from dying on his bathroom floor.

“Good thing you guys don’t get sick, or infections, or anything,” Stiles muttered, grabbing at some gauze and leaving blood all over the kit. He ignored that and ripped through the packaging, grabbing the wad of material and struggling to figure out where to press it. He went for the part bleeding the most and held it down over the injury. It was soaked through in seconds, and he really worried that Derek wasn’t going to be able to heal this before kicking the bucket.

“Fucking moron, why didn’t you just ring the doorbell? Why did you climb up to my room? What if I hadn’t been home, huh? What then? Jesus, Derek, you should’ve gone to Deaton, or the _hospital_. Melissa is there, she would’ve made sure everything was okay, no questions asked. You’re so fucking stupid.”

Stiles pressed down harder, knowing it was useless since the gauze was already soaked, but he forced himself to just keep putting pressure on the worst of it. Derek’s blood was bleeding red, so he wasn’t poisoned. That was good, at the very least. It meant he would be able to heal, but if he lost too much blood before then, he’d probably just die no matter what.

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to call someone, but that would mean leaving Derek, and he was scared to leave him alone, so he just sat there putting pressure on the wound, and babbling nonsensically at him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, or even what time it had been when Derek had crashed into his bedroom, but he heard the front door open quietly downstairs and froze. His heart started beating a mile a minute, and he was two seconds away from a panic attack, thinking whatever had hurt Derek had come to finish him off and mountain ash wasn’t enough to keep it out.

Before the panic could take over, he heard a light turn on and a loud curse before his father’s panicked voice shouted his name.

“Stiles! Stiles, where are you?!”

He couldn’t speak, relief flooding through him while his father pounded up the stairs. He heard an agonized sound from down the corridor, and then his dad was in the doorway, looking like he’d aged ten years in a few short seconds.

Stiles stared up at him from the floor, still pressing against Derek’s chest, covered in blood. It hadn’t occurred to him what his father had probably walked in on. Stiles’ feet were sticky with dried blood, and his hands were coated in it. When he’d gone downstairs, he’d probably left a trail of bloody prints, and then his father had come up to find a trail of blood from having dragged Derek from his bedroom to the bathroom, not to mention Derek’s legs still half-sticking out of the room.

“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles said, voice breathless and small. “Dad, I don’t know what to do.”

It looked like his father was locking away his panic and going into cop mode, because his features shifted and he started rolling up his sleeves, bending down by Derek’s legs and reaching for his wrist. Stiles knew he was checking for a pulse, and he nodded once before pulling his phone from his pocket.

Stiles didn’t really listen while he spoke to someone on the other end, he just heard the sheriff say Melissa’s name a few times. He was evidently trying to get her on the line, and after a brief discussion, he hung up. He reached out one hand and pressed lightly at the area around one of the wounds on Derek’s chest. No blood oozed out, but it wasn’t healing, either.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft but authoritative.

“I don’t know,” Stiles insisted quietly. “I was sleeping, and I heard a bang, and next thing I know Derek Hale is lying bleeding on my bedroom floor.” He stared down at Derek’s face. At his sunken eyes, his prominent cheekbones, his gaunt features. Something had happened to him, and the first thing he’d done once reaching freedom was break into Stiles’ house.

He supposed it was something familiar. For some reason, Derek always ended up at Stiles’ house when he was about to die. Why couldn’t he just come by to play video games like a normal person?

There was a knock at the front door a few minutes later and his dad left to answer it. He felt the house groan slightly and figured Melissa had brought Scott, otherwise his father wouldn’t have broken the barrier. It was back in place almost instantly, the shudder occurring once more, and Stiles looked up at the soft sound Melissa made from the doorway.

She bent down, still in her scrubs, and reached out to squeeze Stiles’ arm gently. Then she opened her bag and began pulling out supplies, Scott appearing behind her with his dad, face pinched with concern.

He asked what happened, but all Stiles could do was repeat what he’d told his father. He didn’t know what had happened. Derek hadn’t been conscious long enough for him to ask any questions.

Melissa asked Scott to come and help her, so Stiles reluctantly moved out of the way, exiting the bathroom so that Scott and his mother had more room to work. He stood at the door, covered in blood, unsure of what to do with himself. His dad grabbed his shoulder gently and steered him towards his bedroom and into the en-suite, telling him to take a shower.

Stiles didn’t want to, he wanted to help Derek, but he wasn’t going to be able to do anything right now. Melissa was a nurse, and Scott worked with Deaton at the vet clinic. They were the two most qualified people to help Derek right now, so all he would do was get in their way if he tried to help.

Getting into the shower, he finally allowed himself a bit of a break from his control. He crouched down and buried both hands in his hair, breathing heavily and struggling not to have a full blown panic attack.

He knew the only one who could hear him with the water hitting tile would be Scott, but he was a little distracted at the moment so hopefully he wouldn’t be listening.

Stiles gave himself only two minutes to panic, and then forced himself back to his feet, scrubbing hard at all of his skin to ensure all the blood was gone.

When he stepped out of the shower, there was a pair of sweats and a shirt on the counter, along with a fresh towel. The bloody clothes he’d been wearing were gone, evidently taken away while he’d been washing up.

He dried off and pulled the clothes on, existing the bathroom with the towel under his arm and dropping it into his father’s laundry. When he exited his father’s room, he saw the hallway had been cleared of blood, and Derek was missing from the bathroom. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the shower, but evidently long enough for his dad to clean up the mess in the hall, bathroom and his bedroom, given he’d walked by to nothing but the smell of cleaner, and for Melissa and Scott to patch Derek up.

He refused to believe Derek was dead, so he figured they’d patched him up more quickly than usual. Or maybe he’d even started healing.

Descending the stairs, his dad was in the front hall scrubbing at the last of the bloody footprints, still in full uniform and looking like his son’s life was taking more of a toll on him than his job. It made Stiles feel guilty, and he wandered to his dad to take over cleaning duties, but the sheriff waved him away and told him to check on Derek.

Stiles only tried for a few more seconds to get the rag from him, then gave up and went to the living room. Derek was stretched out on the couch, lying on top of a bunch of towels, likely to avoid staining the upholster. Scott was standing behind the couch, looking a little pale, but otherwise determined, and Melissa was taping down the corners of some gauze. A few were already stained with patches of red, but thankfully most of them remained a crisp white.

“How is he?” Stiles asked, moving to Melissa’s side and taking a seat on the coffee table.

“Not good,” she admitted, “but he’ll heal. He already started once I’d gotten most of the bigger wounds patched up, so he’ll be all right. He’s resilient.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile, but didn’t fully look at him.

Stiles watched her for a second longer, then shifted his gaze to Derek. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at him before, but now that he wasn’t bleeding to death on his floor, he could see that it wasn’t just his face that had hollowed out.

His hair and beard were long, unkempt, shaggy and greasy. His torso and arms had lost a lot of muscle, and his boxer briefs hung off narrow hips. It looked like he’d lost all of his muscle mass and quite a bit more weight.

It looked like he’d been tortured, and it made Stiles wonder how long he’d been like this. How long he’d been held captive somewhere, waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for help to come.

Waiting for his pack to save him.

It made his stomach roll and he couldn’t stop the vomit this time. He barely made it to the kitchen before throwing up in the sink, retching painfully and coughing. He spat a few times, struggling to calm his stomach, and dry heaved for another thirty seconds before managing to get himself back under control.

A hand fell onto his back, rubbing soothingly while he stayed bent over the sink, spitting and coughing, the stench of vomit making his nose burn. He turned on the tap with a jerky motion and watched the water swirl the sick down the drain, then reached out to cup water in his hands and rinse out his mouth.

When he turned off the tap, he stayed standing there for a few seconds longer, wanting to make sure he was done before straightening. His dad’s hand fell from his back, but he reached out and pulled Stiles into a hug, holding him tightly.

“You didn’t know, Stiles. It’s not your fault.”

But it was his fault, wasn’t it? They were a pack. Derek had been part of their pack, hadn’t he? They hadn’t always gotten along, and they’d rarely seen eye to eye, but he and Derek had always been there for each other. No matter what, they’d always found each other.

But this time, Derek had been alone. No one had come for him. He’d had to make his own way home, his own way back to where he wanted to be.

Apparently that was Stiles’ bedroom. Apparently the only person he felt safest being around while close to death was the weakest human in their pack.

He let his dad hold him, trying to find comfort in his arms, but eventually it hurt too much and he pulled away, going back into the living room.

Melissa and Scott had been speaking in quiet tones when he walked in, but they stopped at his approach. Melissa took his hand and squeezed it, then released it and looked back at Derek. Scott was scowling down at him, and Stiles knew that he was thinking the same thing he’d been.

He’d failed him as a friend. And as an Alpha.

“I found this,” Scott said quietly, not looking at Stiles, but holding out a phone, the screen cracked. “I charged it in your room for a while. I didn’t turn it on.”

Stiles took it and sat down beside Melissa on the coffee table. When he booted up the phone, the apple logo flashed and he waited while it went through the usual boot-up sequence.

Once it finished, he swiped the bottom and the screen unlocked onto a photo of the pack. It was back when it had still been small, before Scott had even fully agreed to be a part of it. The three of them were there, along with Derek’s betas, Isaac, Boyd and Erica. Lydia was there, too, but no Jackson, Kira or Cora.

No Allison, either.

Stiles didn’t remember when the picture was taken, but it must’ve been early on in the days of the pack. Before everything had gone to hell.

Before everyone had died.

Shaking off the feelings of guilt, Stiles tapped at a few icons, and realized the messages weren’t showing as unread. He opened them, and was surprised to see that his name was at the top of the message box and every single one was showing as opened and read.

There was a response in the message bar, but Derek had never hit send, so it had never made it through to Stiles’ phone.

All it said was his name.

_Stiles._

He wondered when Derek had texted it. Had it been when he’d been on the run after escaping, and had been trying to ask for help? Or maybe it had been before that, when he’d been originally captured, and had wanted Stiles to know he was alive and needed help.

Stiles closed out of the messages and checked the call log. There were a lot from Stiles, but after almost every missed call, there was an outgoing call to Derek’s voicemail. Derek had ignored Stiles’ calls, but not his messages. He’d called to listen to them. He’d read every text message. He’d shown up at his house after _two years_ , bloodied and dying.

Stiles ran his arm roughly across his eyes when he felt tears spill over his lashes, sniffing once and clearing his throat, ignoring Scott’s gaze on him and the way Melissa’s hand had come up to rub his back.

He opened Derek’s email and saw a few unread ones from Deaton. The most recent one showed the first few lines which read, “Derek, it’s been almost four months. I’m becoming concerned. Please...”

Anger, hot and sudden, shot through Stiles at the realization that Deaton and Derek had been in communication the past two years, and it had only recently stopped. Instead of saying something to the pack, he’d left Derek to die.

To fucking _die_!

He was going to punch Deaton in his calm and collected fucking face. The man had known something was wrong, but he’d said nothing. He’d just waited, and that _killed_  Stiles. How could he just leave Derek alone without saying anything to anyone?!

Stiles knew there was nothing that could be done right then, so he tried to calm himself down, focussing instead on the drafts. He was surprised to see over fifty of them in there, and even more surprised to see they all had his email as the recipient.

All these emails, and not one of them had been sent.

He scrolled down a bit until he reached one that went as far back as last year’s first of January. It seemed fitting to read that one first, so he opened it and let his eyes scan over the words.

_Stiles,_  
_Happy New Year. I’m not one for new years, to be honest, but you seem like someone who enjoys a fresh start._  
_I’ve almost caught up with Kate. Braeden is dead. I should probably feel some remorse but she knew what she was getting into and I told her not to come with me._  
_You’re probably on your winter break right now. Hope university was good. Hope you’re doing well and nothing supernatural came out to ruin it._  
_I’m making a New Year’s resolution this year._  
_I’m going to come home before next year. By New Year’s next year, I’ll be home._  
_I’ll stop being a coward. I’ll finish off with Kate, and I’ll come back, and I’ll get everything out in the open._  
_Maybe I’ll even be brave enough to send this one day._  
_I’ll see you next year._  
_Derek._

Stiles rubbed his arm across his eyes again almost savagely, willing the tears to stop but knowing it wouldn’t help. This entire situation was stupid and unacceptable. He hated everything about it.

He sat there on the coffee table, flipping through all the draft emails to him, reading every single one. Somewhere in the middle of it all, after continuously reading about how Derek thought himself a coward, something dawned on Stiles.

Derek loved him.

It seemed so stupid to even think about, that someone as gorgeous and desirable as Derek Hale would want a skinny spastic kid like Stiles, but the more he read, the more he realized that was what was going on.

Derek Hale was in love with him.

And that only made things a million times worse, because Stiles hadn’t been there for him. Stiles had given up on him. Sure, it had literally been six hours ago according to the time, but it didn’t matter. Stiles had given up on Derek, and all this time Derek had been running from him because he was too afraid of being hurt again.

The guilt Stiles felt almost overwhelmed him, and Scott came to stand beside him, bumping his shoulder with his elbow, and then crouching so they were closer to eye level. Stiles shifted his gaze to him, but didn’t turn his head, still gripping the phone tightly.

“We couldn’t have known,” Scott insisted, and Stiles realized he looked just as guilty as Stiles felt. “We couldn’t have known something had happened to him. He shut us out. He stopped talking to us.”

“Talked to Deaton,” Stiles said bitterly, turning the phone slightly to show Scott. “You’d think the doc would’ve mentioned when Derek went dark.”

Scott winced at that, but said nothing. Stiles figured he would have a talk with Deaton later, which was probably for the best, given Stiles wouldn’t be very forgiving if he was the one to head over there.

“I think he loved me,” Stiles said quietly after a few moments of silence, the four in the room watching Derek sleep.

“I know.”

Stiles’ head snapped towards Scott and his friend had the decency to look ashamed, turning his face away and rubbing at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Werewolf,” Scott muttered. “Kind of hard to miss.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles demanded, turning to him fully, angling his body in his direction and trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He didn’t think he succeeded. “You knew how I felt about him, why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because, he also knew how you felt,” Scott insisted, still wincing and pressing his lips together, avoiding looking at Stiles. “If he knew how you felt, and felt the same way, and did nothing about it, how could I tell you?”

“I would’ve—”

“What?” Scott asked, turning to him, expression hard. “What would you have done, Stiles? This is Derek. He wouldn’t have let you in.”

“He might’ve,” Stiles muttered, turning back to Derek, not even believing himself.

They sat in silence for another hour before Melissa and Scott finally left and his dad coaxed him back to bed. Stiles checked the house twice to make sure nothing had entered while the barrier had been down for Scott’s exit, and then finally returned to his room, glancing over his shoulder on the way up the stairs to watch Derek on the couch until he was out of sight.

Once he was back in bed, he tossed and turned for what felt like hours before his eyes began to sting and he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t sure what had woken him up. Whether it was a noise, or the light outside streaming through his curtains, or even just his brain insisting he’d slept long enough. All he knew was that the moment he came back to consciousness, every hair on his body rose on end and he could feel someone watching him.

Slowly opening his eyes, it took a second for them to adjust, and he came face to face with another person.

Letting out a shout and flailing backwards, he smacked his attacker in the face with one wild hand and scrambled across the bed, slamming hard into the wall. His heart beat a mile a minute and he looked around wildly for some kind of weapon before realizing the person he’d smacked had fallen on their ass and was now just sitting on the floor, staring up at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Stiles shouted angrily, flailing his arms helplessly. “You don’t crouch down beside someone’s bed and watch them sleep like a creepy creeper! What’s wrong with you?!”

Stiles’ door opened, but he could tell by the lack of urgency that his father was moreso checking whether or not everyone was alive as opposed to checking for any danger.

He turned to glare at the sheriff, who was leaning sideways against the doorframe, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning, son.”

“Don’t ‘morning’ me!” Stiles massaged his chest, trying to force his heart to calm down, and turned back to the heap still sprawled on his ass on the floor.

Derek looked leagues better than he had the night before. That probably wasn’t a hard contest to win, considering he wasn’t covered in blood anymore. He’d been given new clothes—his dad’s, from the looks of it—and had trimmed his hair and shaved most of his beard. He looked almost the same as he had when he left, except a lot thinner and with less muscle.

He was just sitting there, staring up at Stiles like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Like he thought he was dreaming and he was just waiting to wake up.

Stiles dragged one hand across his face in a manner very reminiscent of his dad and turned to the man standing at the door. “Can you give us a minute?”

The sheriff shrugged, then looked at Derek. “Food’s ready when you want to come down and eat.” Then he grabbed the doorknob and shut the bedroom door.

Stiles turned back to Derek, who was still staring at him like this was a cruel joke. Stiles would’ve snapped at him for being stupid enough to think a joke or a dream would’ve been flailing hard enough to smack him in the face, but it looked like Derek had been through a lot so he reigned it in.

Shuffling forward on his bed, he sat on the edge and stared down at the Werewolf, waiting for him to do or say something.

When he didn’t, Stiles sighed and rubbed at his face again, then climbed off the bed and sat on the floor across from Derek. He held up both hands, Derek giving him a confused look, and then slowly began to count his fingers, lowering each one as he counted.

When he got to ten, Derek finally shifted into a normal seated position, staring at Stiles like he still thought this wasn’t real.

Stiles let the silence hang for only a few moments before he couldn’t handle it anymore. “You don’t write, you don’t call, you don’t text. You just show up bleeding all over my floor and expect me to patch you up. I’m gonna start charging rent for how often you end up in my bedroom.” He tried for a smile, and almost succeeded.

“I had nowhere else to go.” Derek’s voice was low, rough, but it was still _his_  and it made Stiles _feel things_. It had been so long since he’d heard it outside of the short voicemail message wherein an electronic voice did most of the talking and all Derek had done was provide his name for the recording.

He had never wished so badly for Derek to speak in his life.

“You always have somewhere to go,” Stiles insisted quietly. “We’re pack. You could’ve called. Could’ve let us know you were alive. We all thought you were dead.”

Derek didn’t say anything, and that was frustrating enough that Stiles let out an annoyed sigh, picking at the skin around his fingernails without even looking at them.

“What happened? Where did you go? Did you find Kate?”

Derek’s face closed off, and while Stiles was annoyed, he wasn’t exactly surprised. The fact that his expression had been open and honest a moment ago was a late Christmas miracle, really.

“I found Kate in April. She’s no longer a problem.”

“You mean you killed her.”

“I mean she won’t be bothering us anymore.” His tone suggested Stiles should drop it before he regretted it.

Stiles had never really been good at taking cues. “If you killed Kate back in April, why did it take you so long to come home?” His eyes strayed to Derek’s covered torso. “What happened after Kate?”

“I ran into some feral Werewolves. A lot of them. They’re in a sort of pack, which shouldn’t be possible.”

“Well, a lot of impossible things seem to happen to us, so, you know.” Stiles shrugged, eying Derek again. “Did they do that to you?” He jerked his chin in Derek’s direction, implying his injuries.

“They had an Alpha. He wasn’t feral, he was smart, and he kept them all in line. He was trying to build a feral army, take over territories.” Stiles didn’t miss the past tense.

“Dead?”

“He won’t be a problem anymore,” Derek said, using similar wording as he had with Kate. He scowled then, and said, “He tried to turn me feral.”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat at that and he stared at Derek, watching his expression, the way he sat so perfectly still. It was like a part of him _had_  gone feral, but had then clawed its way back to sanity. Like Derek had lost himself and then struggled to maintain a piece of him that would stop him from teetering over that last edge.

“It didn’t work,” Stiles said softly.

Silence for a long while, and Stiles was almost positive that Derek was done speaking until he said, very quietly,

“It almost did.”

“But it didn’t,” Stiles insisted, scooting closer and drumming his fingers on his knees. “You’re still you. You came back.”

“I held on,” Derek corrected. “It was hard, and most of the time, I didn’t think I would make it. But I had my anchor, and I held on.”

“When did you escape?”

“Three days ago. Without their Alpha, the ferals came after me, caught up at some point. Some of them are also Alphas.” He motioned his chest briefly with a flick of one hand. That explained why it had taken them so long to heal, why Melissa had been forced to put in stitches.

“Why didn’t you call?” Stiles asked quietly.

“I didn’t want to endanger your pack. I wanted to either lose them or get rid of them before I reached the border. I don’t know how many there are out there right now, but the ones that followed me shouldn’t cause any more problems.”

Stiles stared at him for a long while, his words echoing in his ears and a stabbing pain in his chest.

_Your_  pack. Not _our_  pack.

Derek didn’t consider himself a part of their pack. Even though he was only a Beta now, even though they’d been fighting side by side for years, he still didn’t consider himself part of the pack. And that stung, because it meant he didn’t consider Stiles a part of his pack.

After a moment, one during which Stiles ignored the fact that Derek was watching him, a frown creasing his brows, he stood and turned towards the door, clearing his throat.

“Dad said food was ready so we should head down and eat before it gets cold.”

“Stiles—”

He didn’t answer, he just opened the bedroom door and exited his room, heading for the stairs. He’d made it to the end of the corridor before Derek’s hand closed around his arm and tugged him back, forcing him to turn.

“Why are you upset?” Derek demanded, frustration creeping into his tone. “I was trying to keep everyone safe.”

“We could’ve helped you, Derek,” Stiles snapped, yanking his arm free. “If you’d called us, we could’ve come to help you. You wouldn’t have gotten torn to shit and then stumbled half dead into my room. What if I hadn’t been home? What if I was still at school and it was just dad here? He was on shift last night, no one would’ve found you for hours. You would’ve _died_!”

“I didn’t need anyone’s help getting away from them.”

“That’s the problem, Derek!” Stiles shouted. “You _do_  need help, you just won’t _ask_  for it! For fuck’s sake, you don’t even consider yourself part of our _pack_! We’re a Pack, Derek! All of us! Including you!”

Derek’s anger seemed to peak and he let go of Stiles’ arm, staring at him with his expression closed off and his eyes blazing.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.” He pushed past Stiles to head down the stairs.

“Yeah, that’s right Derek, just run away!” Stiles shouted after him, following him quickly down the stairs. “Run away, like you always do! It’s what you’re good at!”

Derek slammed the front door so hard behind him that the wood splintered.

“Coward!” Stiles bellowed, knowing that even without enhanced hearing, Derek would’ve heard him.

He stood in the front entrance for a long while, fists clenched and chest heaving. Derek was infuriating, Stiles had no fucking idea why he even liked him. He should’ve just stuck to his resolution, but that had been impossible when the moron had fallen head first into his stupid bedroom.

Stiles didn’t realize how much time had passed until his father walked up behind him, standing silently for a few moments.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine, Derek’s just being a stubborn asshole.” Stiles turned on his heel and moved past his dad to the kitchen so he could grab some food.

“Derek’s not the only one being stubborn.”

Stiles whipped around to glare at his father, the sheriff looking anywhere but at his son while taking a sip of his coffee, trying to pretend he hadn’t said anything.

“He needs to stop acting like help won’t be given to him if he asks for it!” Stiles insisted, unable to believe his father was taking _Derek’s_  side! “Doesn’t he understand how much we care about him?”

“I don’t think he does, son.”

Stiles’ head snapped back, his dad moving closer and patting his shoulder while passing him to head into the kitchen. Stiles turned to follow him, moving to take a seat at the table and scowling at the eggs and bacon on his plate. There was another one sitting at an empty spot, and his father’s place was empty, which meant he’d already eaten.

He gave his dad a look, annoyed that he’d had bacon, and even eggs, which weren’t the best for him if he didn’t cut out the yolk. The sheriff just raised his eyebrows at him, leaning back against the counter and pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“Derek’s an idiot,” Stiles insisted, turning to stab angrily at his breakfast and shoving large forkfulls into his mouth. Some of the yolk dribbled down his chin and he snatched up some paper napkins to wipe at his mouth, but didn’t slow in his chewing.

“Derek has led a complicated life. You know that better than anyone. You and Scott are all he has, and he isn’t going to endanger your lives to help himself. I’d have thought you’d know him better than that by now.”

Stiles didn’t deem that worthy of a response and just finished chowing down on his food. When he stood to leave, dumping the dishes in the sink, his father held out a piece of paper. Stiles frowned, but took it.

“What’s this?”

“Derek’s number. Scott told me you deleted it last night before he showed up. I took the liberty of asking him for it.”

Stiles almost wanted to shove it back at him, but resisted the urge. He thanked his father for breakfast and headed back to his room to change. Once he was dressed, he left the house and got into the Jeep.

He didn’t even know where he was headed until he stopped in front of the preserve. He knew Derek wouldn’t be there, the Hale house had long ago been torn down, and he was sure Derek still had the loft. Then again, Derek had mentioned having nowhere else to go, so maybe the loft had been repossessed due to lapse in payment.

Turning off the engine, Stiles kicked open the door anyway and climbed out of the Jeep. He headed into the preserve, pushing branches out of his way and following the trails until he reached the clearing where the old Hale house used to be.

The foundation hadn’t been torn out entirely yet, but the wood frame was gone. The area was overgrown and Stiles wondered if anyone was going to build here ever again or if the tragedy that had occurred and left a dark mark on the area meant no one would dare touch it again.

Stiles took a seat in a spot that didn’t look like it was full of mud and let his arms rest over his bent knees. He knew his father was right, and he was being unfair, but Derek had always been really good at infuriating him.

It didn’t help that he’d read all those stupid emails Derek had never sent, and found out from Scott that someone he’d cared about in many different ways had felt the same as him. He wanted to be angry at Derek for being a coward, angry at Scott for lying, angry at his father for taking Derek’s side, angry at Deaton for lying to them all.

He lacked the energy, so instead, he just sat staring at what was left of the torn down house and wondered where Derek had run off to. Maybe he’d left town again. Wouldn’t surprise him, if he was honest.

After half an hour of sitting there, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and the piece of paper from his dad. It felt like a loss when he programmed the number back into his phone, the sent messages with an “unknown number” as the header now showing Derek’s name again.

His resolution hadn’t even lasted one entire day. He supposed they were made to be broken, nobody ever stuck to their resolutions. It was stupid to think that making yourself a promise on the first day of a new year meant it would stick.

Stiles debated calling Derek for a few minutes, but then shoved the phone back into his pocket and kept staring at the house. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually his stomach began to complain its lack of nourishment and he stood to head back for the Jeep.

He was walking through the forest when he heard something snap behind him. Whipping around, he scanned the area, heart slamming in his chest and palms beginning to sweat.

“Scotty?” He knew it was stupid to assume it would be a friendly, but Stiles was nothing if not optimistic when it came to situations where he feared for his life.

He received no response, which meant either something bad, or something non-existent. Turning, Stiles headed quickly back down the path towards his vehicle, keeping an ear out for sounds of something following. His mind flashed back to what Derek had said, about the feral wolves and the cruel Alpha. Suddenly, walking around alone in the middle of the forest without telling anyone where he’d gone didn’t seem like the smartest idea in the world.

When he heard footsteps crunching through the underbrush behind him, Stiles gave in to panic and started sprinting for his car. He knew it was stupid, and even as he did it, a part of him was screaming at him that running was the worst idea in the world because _wolves liked chasing things_! But he couldn’t help it, it was instinctive. Fight or flight, and he knew there was no way in hell he could win a fight.

He’d just passed one of the last bends in the trail before he’d reach the road when he heard a growl behind him and something jumped onto his back. Letting out a shout, he crashed hard into the path, tasting dirt in his mouth and scraping the bottom of his chin and hands on the fall.

Something heavy was on top of him, growling low in the back of their throat, and Stiles lay absolutely still, heart pounding and breath frozen in his lungs.

Was this it? Was this how he died? Distracted by Derek Hale in the middle of the preserve on the first day of the year? Stiles _really_  hated the new year!

Clenching his eyes shut when he felt hot breath ghosting over the back of his neck, he waited for the inevitable.

It didn’t come.

He just kept feeling hot breath ghosting along his neck, and then a face buried itself in his hair and inhaled deeply. A low, pleased rumble met his ears, and then stubble was rubbing against the exposed skin of his neck.

Stiles lay motionless for a few seconds, brain slowly trying to establish what was going on before it finally clicked.

“Derek?” he asked cautiously.

The body above him froze and he felt the stubble disappear from the back of his neck. When the weight left him, Stiles slowly shifted so he could roll onto his back and sit up, staring up at Derek. He looked a mix of horrified and ashamed before his mask was back in place, expression closed off while he stared down at Stiles.

Reaching up with one hand, Stiles wiped at his chin, coming away with a bit of blood but not enough to be concerned. His hands ached and were scratched in places, but the wounds weren’t deep and hadn’t even bled, so he just rubbed them against his jeans, ignoring the sting, and held one hand out to Derek.

When Derek didn’t take it, Stiles shook it insistently. “Well, big guy? You gonna help me up, or what?”

Derek scowled but reached out one hand to clasp Stiles’, pulling him to his feet so roughly he almost dislocated his arm. Stiles rotated his shoulder when Derek released him and eyed the Werewolf thoughtfully.

“Were you following me?”

“I was worried,” Derek admitted through grit teeth, as if having to do so was painful.

Stiles rubbed at his chin again, scowling down at the streak of blood on his hand, and looked back up at Derek. “Did you lose control for a second? What you just did isn’t exactly normal for you.”

Derek didn’t answer, not that Stiles expected him to. He just rolled his eyes and motioned for Derek to follow while he headed for the Jeep. He was only slightly surprised that he did, the two of them climbing in.

Stiles drove them back into town to one of the diners, parking out front and then leading the way inside. When they sat down in one of the booths, Stiles watched Derek. His gaze kept shifting from the door, to the people, to the bar, to Stiles, over and over again. He never focussed on anything for any length of time, and Stiles had to wonder if the wolf was still in control.

Against his better judgement, he reached out one hand to place it on Derek’s arm. The Werewolf stiffened, staring down at the hand, then up at Stiles. They had a mini stare-off until the waitress came by and Stiles retreated his hand. He ordered a burger with curly fries and a milkshake. Derek grunted that he wasn’t hungry, but Stiles just ordered the same thing for him and the waitress left them alone.

“It’s fine to say you don’t have any money, you know.” Stiles chased the straw in his water with his tongue for a few seconds before finally getting it into his mouth and sucking some down. Derek just kept scowling at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. “What happened to the loft?”

“Nothing. I checked on it earlier. It’s fine.”

“Dusty, probably.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, which was doing nothing for Stiles’ nerves, so he started talking to Derek about school, for lack of anything better to talk about. He told him about his campus and his classes, and about how he had spent most of the semester on bad terms with one of his professors because they didn’t see eye to eye on the topics they were discussing.

Derek listened the entire time without saying a word, and when the food came, he even ate it instead of being a stubborn ass and insisting he wasn’t hungry.

Stiles could see his ribs. Derek was definitely fucking hungry.

The conversation was mostly carried by Stiles, but that wasn’t anything new, so he didn’t let that bother him. They were heading back to the Jeep so Stiles could drop Derek off at the loft when Derek spoke so quietly that Stiles almost missed his words over the sound of his own voice.

“You ran.”

“Huh?” Stiles stopped beside the car, turning to Derek.

“Earlier. In the woods. You ran.”

Stiles scratched idly at his cheek and shrugged. “Well, yeah. You didn’t exactly make it known it was you. I thought it was something else that went bump in the night. If you’d just come out and said it was you, I wouldn’t have run away.”

Derek scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, the action extremely defensive.

“The wolf took over because you made yourself prey. If you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

“Oh.” Stiles didn’t really know what to say to that, flipping the car keys in his hand, watching Derek’s face. “So I was right, then. You lost control because I ran.”

Derek’s teeth were grinding so hard, Stiles could hear them, but he spoke anyway. “I like chasing things.”

“Do you usually nuzzle them when you catch them?” Stiles tried for teasing, but the murderous look he received in return had him rethinking that strategy.

“No, I tear out their throats.”

“Well, thanks for not tearing mine out,” Stiles said awkwardly.

Derek was still grinding his teeth, and when he took a step forward, Stiles took one back into the Jeep, pressing himself flat against the door.

“It’s—hard right now. The wolf is trying to come out, and I can’t...” Derek scowled, clearly frustrated and unable to explain what he was trying to say.

“I get it,” Stiles said quietly. “You almost went feral, and you’re still working on it. But you didn’t go full wolf, so that’s a good thing, right? You’ll be okay, you just need to spend time with people.” It explained why Derek was so twitchy. Maybe Stiles shouldn’t have brought him out to a public place like this for lunch.

Then again, lunch was over and he hadn’t mauled anyone so, progress!

“Are you staying at the loft right now?”

“I have nowhere else.”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, watching Derek as the Werewolf looked anywhere but at him.

“You can stay with my dad and I for a while, if you want. Dad won’t mind.” _I hope,_  Stiles added silently.

Derek hesitated, scowling at something across the street. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

They stood in silence for a second, and then Derek’s face twitched slightly. When he shifted his gaze back to Stiles, his eyes were glowing blue and he took a step forward. Stiles had nowhere to go, already pressed back against the side of the Jeep. Derek got into his personal space, eyes still blue, and bent his head down until his breath ghosted along Stiles’ neck.

Stiles tried to stop the fear from rising, tried to remind himself this was Derek, but it was hard when his eyes were glowing, he’d _literally_  just said the wolf was taking over without him being able to reign it in, and he was now dragging his teeth across his neck!

“Derek?” Stiles said cautiously, feeling the Werewolf’s nose drag along the column of his throat, inhaling deeply. He dragged his teeth back down his neck, very sharp, inhuman teeth, pressing them against the juncture where neck and shoulder met.

“Derek?” he said again, louder.

Derek froze where he was, as if just now realizing what he was doing, and he took a step back, eyes slowly fading back to their usual green colour and fangs returning to normal human teeth.

“You were my anchor,” Derek admitted, eyes still on Stiles’ throat. “You were the one thing my human side and my wolf side could focus on. Being close to you right now, without being in control of the wolf... I can’t. I might do something I can’t take back.”

Stiles’ heart was beating somewhere up in his throat. “Like what?” he asked quietly.

Derek’s eyes snapped up to his face. His eyes flashed blue for only a moment before returning to their usual green.

“I have a lot of mountain ash, you know.” Stiles shrugged. “We can always make a path for you from the guest room to the bathroom and down to the first floor. If we keep you in an area where you can’t come to us, but are still close enough, it might help.” He scratched at his cheek again, wondering if his dad would actually go for this. “If I was your anchor before, I mean, it makes sense I’d be able to help you even more now. I don’t think having you alone in the loft is going to do much for your humanity.” Stiles grinned. “Not that you’ve ever had much of that.”

“Thanks,” Derek said dryly, giving Stiles a look.

“Come on, Sourwolf.” Stiles hit him lightly on the shoulder. “Get in the car. We can sort everything out once we get to the house.”

Stiles climbed into the Jeep and waited for Derek to come around the other side. Once they were on their way home, Stiles looked over and found Derek staring down at his hands, counting his fingers. He reached out one hand without a word, took one of Derek’s, and threaded their fingers together.

Derek didn’t look at him, or say anything, but he squeezed back and Stiles smiled.

* * *

It was insane for Stiles to think that it was still only the first of January. This entire day felt like it had lasted two weeks, and he wasn’t sure he knew what to do with himself. He had a semi-feral Werewolf in his spare room, his dad was working and _not_  happy about the semi-feral Werewolf thing, and he had so many weird paths of mountain ash in his house that he felt like he was playing ‘the floor is lava’ every time he tried to move between rooms.

Derek was still a little weird, eyes darting around every now and then and sitting tense whenever he and Stiles were a little too close. His eyes flashed blue at one point when Stiles had been standing up from changing a disc in the DVD player and in a way, it was a good thing they both knew the other liked them or the whole wolf being all over Stiles thing would’ve been weird.

Stiles ordered pizza for dinner, vowing to try and make real food for the next day considering all he’d fed Derek since his arrival was a burger, fries, a milkshake and pizza. Probably not the best thing to be giving a semi-feral, starved Werewolf on his first day back.

He let Derek have the shower first, and then had to close the mountain ash barrier that led to the bathroom to avoid any unexpected visits while he was cleaning up. The last thing he needed was to turn around and find a blue-eyed Werewolf in the shower with him, and while he wouldn’t necessarily mind seeing Derek naked, he wasn’t sure he wanted that right now.

Once he was clean and changed out, he fixed the mountain ash barrier so that Derek would have access to the bathroom again and went to dump his clothes into his laundry. Before heading to bed, he went to check on Derek, finding him sitting on the edge of the guest bed staring down at his hands again.

“You okay?”

He knew it was a stupid question to ask, but he needed to ask it anyway. He doubted he’d get a real answer, but sometimes Derek could surprise him.

“I keep worrying this isn’t real,” he admitted quietly, lowering one finger at a time, counting silently. Stiles waited until he was done before moving further into the room and sitting on the bed beside him.

“I’m the expert at not knowing when things are real.” Stiles looked down at his own hands, but clenched them into fists instead of counting them. “It gets easier.”

“Do you still think about it?” Stiles gave Derek a quizzical look. “The Nogitsune?”

Wincing, Stiles looked back down at his hands. “Sometimes. Less often than I used to, but enough for it to concern my dad. But it’s one of those things that just happened. It happened, and now I just need to deal with it.” He turned back to Derek and grinned. “Come on, big guy.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “Get some rest. We can have an angst-fest tomorrow morning over coffee.”

Derek scowled at him but didn’t argue, he just watched Stiles leave the room and shut the door.

Stiles checked that all the doors were locked, made sure the overall outer barrier was in place, and then double-checked the inner barrier. When everything had been looked over, he went to his room and shut the door.

He watched some Netflix on his computer for a while, texting Scott about everything that had happened throughout the day, and then finally calling it a night around ten. It was earlier than he usually went to bed at, but the day had been mentally and physically exhausting, not to mention he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.

He shifted uncomfortably in bed for a while, rolling over back and forth and trying to get comfortable. When he glanced at the clock, he saw it was just past eleven and sighed, falling onto his back and staring up at his ceiling.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Derek in the room next door, lying in a room surrounded by mountain ash, having to be kept on a leash because he might lose himself. Stiles hated that thought. He hated that Derek was worried about what he might do.

Even more, he hated the thought that Derek might run again. What if Stiles broke the barrier to go out tomorrow and Derek just left again? He didn’t want to lose him again, he didn’t want to forget about him, he didn’t want to stick to his stupid New Year’s resolution.

After tossing and turning for another fifteen minutes, Stiles kicked the covers off himself viciously and rolled out of bed. He rearranged his shirt when it twisted awkwardly around his torso and wandered out into the corridor. He hesitated for only a second before opening the spare room door, poking his head in to see if Derek was still awake.

He was lying on his back, head tilted towards the door, but his chest rose and fell slowly in sleep. Stiles snuck quietly into the room and stopped beside the bed, staring down at him. Derek always looked so different when he slept. Peaceful. Like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Now that Kate was gone, Stiles wondered what Derek would do next. Knowing him, probably go out and hunt down all the feral wolves the death of the Alpha had released into the wild, but that wasn’t a good idea in his current state. Stiles idly wondered if he could just take Derek back to the dorm with him. He had a single room, he and Derek could stay in there together, no problem.

Probably not the best idea, but he worried about leaving him alone. Maybe he could stay in the house, spend time with the sheriff, try and get himself a bit more grounded.

“I thought staring made people creepy creepers,” a sleep-filled voice said in the darkness.

Stiles started, and focussed back on Derek’s face. His eyes were open, and while they were still green, he had a blue ring around the outside of his iris, as if the wolf were trying to take over and he was just barely holding it at bay.

“I wasn’t staring, I was thinking.”

“You were staring.”

“I was thinking while looking in your general direction.”

Derek gave him a look, with the eyebrows and the face, and God Stiles had missed him.

“What are you doing in here, Stiles?”

“I told you, I was thinking.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, the two of them watching one another. “I was just worried about you. About what happens when I go back to school.”

Derek said nothing and Stiles knew he was trying not to think about it. At least that was a week away, so they had time to sort things out.

Without thinking, Stiles reached out and dragged his nails through Derek’s stubble, scratching along his skin and watching Derek’s nostrils flare and his eyes brighten. Before he could say anything, he let out a shout when his arm was grabbed and he was tossed onto his back on the bed, Derek looming over him, eyes a startling blue.

Neither of them moved, Stiles lying motionless on the bed and Derek hovering above him. He could hear him growling low in his throat, and the arms on either side of his head were trembling slightly. It looked like Derek was struggling to stay in control.

Carefully, Stiles shifted, raising his arms and wrapping them around Derek’s neck. Derek’s growl deepened, but it wasn’t a scary growl that preceded blood and violence and throat-ripping. It was more like a content growl, the kind dogs had when they were playing and excited.

Slowly, Stiles tugged Derek down, and he could tell Derek wanted to pull back, to resist, but he didn’t. He just allowed Stiles to pull him down and hug him tightly, his face buried in Stiles’ neck.

“You’re not going to hurt me, you know,” he whispered, one hand remaining on the back of Derek’s neck and the other rubbing along his spine. “I trust you. Even if the wolf peeks out, you said it doesn’t want to hurt me, either.”

Derek was still growling against his neck, and Stiles felt teeth dragging along his throat. Derek was mouthing at his skin, exhaling sharply every few seconds and then inhaling deeply, burying his face further into his neck.

Stiles just stayed where he was, one hand rubbing lightly up and down Derek’s back and the other scratching at his hair near the base of his skull. Derek seemed content to just lie there, mouthing at his neck, and Stiles wasn’t sure how long they lay there in silence before his mouth ran away with him.

“How come you never told me you liked me?”

Derek froze but Stiles continued running his hand along his back and through his hair. He didn’t let Derek pull away when he tried, just held on tightly and waited for him to settle again. Derek said nothing, but after a few seconds he tightened his hold on Stiles and breathed against his neck.

“Is it because of what happened?” Stiles asked. “With Kate? You’re scared to let me in?”

“You’re not Kate,” Derek’s muffled voice responded.

“At least you acknowledge that,” Stiles teased. When Derek said nothing else, he asked, “Are you afraid?”

“I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Stiles smacked his back hard, which caused Derek to jerk up and scowl down at him.

“Don’t be an idiot, Derek. You have paid the price ten fold for any wrongs you think you’ve committed in your life. Stop being self-sacrificing and recognize that you’re _allowed_  to be happy if you want to be. Whether that’s with me or someone else doesn’t matter, but you need to stop pretending that everything you’ve done makes you unworthy of being happy.”

He flicked Derek’s ear for good measure and earned himself a scowl. He just returned that look with a grin and pulled at Derek to get him back down on top of him again. He resisted at first, but only for a second, then settled himself back on Stiles’ chest, face buried in his neck. Stiles shifted so they were more comfortable, Derek between his legs and the pillow lowered a little so it wasn’t just hitting the top of his head.

Once they were both comfortable, he closed his eyes for sleep, running his hand up and down Derek’s spine. He was just in that space between being awake and unconscious when Derek shifted again and he felt the barest pressure against his lips. Derek’s lips were chapped, and unsure, but it was probably the best kiss Stiles had ever experienced.

He opened his eyes and saw uncertainty in Derek’s face, the edges of his irises blue again. Stiles just smiled and pulled him back down, pressing his lips more insistently against Derek’s. He heard fabric ripping and figured Derek’s claws were doing a number on the bedsheets, but that was okay, they’d survive. He’d just get some help sewing them back together in the morning.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles said between chaste kisses, his hand cradling Derek’s cheek, thumb rubbing gently at the skin beneath his right eye.

“Probably, if I’m trying to make this work with you.”

Stiles laughed, leaning up to kiss Derek lightly again, then fell back onto the bed fully.

“Happy New Year, Derek.”

“Happy New Year,” Derek replied, settling against him once more. “Have any resolutions?”

“I did, but I couldn’t keep it. Lasted about six hours.”

Derek’s laugh was an unexpected warmth in Stiles’ chest, and he smiled against the Werewolf’s hair, holding him more tightly.

“That’s okay, there’s always next year,” Derek said. “Besides, resolutions are made to be broken.”

“In this particular case, truer words were never spoken.”

Stiles kissed Derek’s temple and settled in for sleep. Maybe he hadn’t kept his resolution this year, but he supposed when it came to Derek, he should’ve known better.

He’d never been good with staying away from him, and apparently, Derek didn’t like the thought of being forgotten.

Why else would he have fallen through Stiles’ window?

**END.**


End file.
